It’s good to review things right away before you forget.
Let’s start with food, since that’s the easiest to remember and review:
Granddaughter #2 misses my noodles, so I guess they were a hit. But she still needed prompting to talk to us on the phone tonight.
The fish chowder was a success. I made it out of the tilapia with purple potatoes that didn’t get completely cooked through. The ones in the ceramic pan were perfect, but the aluminum wasn’t. No problem; I just added it to the ton of regular potatoes and onions I had already prepared. I think it was the rosemary that made it unusually tasty.
I had so much salmon left over that I made it into 2 large pans of baked something or other. I used up left-over tofu spread with it and that made it creamy and nice.
So one thing can lead to the next.
I didn’t make wild rice for any of the meals. I made it last year and it was a wild year. I had forgotten that I had, until I checked my menu. It definitely was a siman of some kind, more than we had bargained for (from whom, exactly, I’m not sure). I made pilaf, lots of pilaf.
So we should have a p-luffy year?
Underneath the whole holiday of Sukkot, there was tension, certainly with me and I know with my girls. Oh, not against each other, but we were all tense underneath. We were all very aware of how last year on the second day of Sukkot, our little mazik decided to pour himself a cup of tea, except it was on himself. So we anxiously avoided giving the kids anything too hot; we anxiously shooed the kids out of the kitchen when any cooking was going on; we held our breath a number of times when we heard bumps in the night; and just in general, I joined the anxious ones. Usually, it’s my husband’s job (there’s probably a better word for that; let’s change it to) habit to be the white rabbit; he was definitely too busy with shul stuff to worry about this. So when our son-in-law (the abba of aforesaid young mazik) says about an hour before they were leaving on Tuesday night, “Well, nothing has happened this trip so we’re safe” or something to that effect, I immediately told him to shush!!!
Sure enough, the next moment, little mazik goes running and bangs his head into the wall.
Thank G-d he was fine, this time. Yes, hard-headed, for sure.
But that really released the anxiety that I hadn’t had any idea of how deep it was and how it was holding me hostage to a great extent all yuntif.
Being a mother is crazy hard; being a grandmother is crazy-harder in a crazy way.